


We Die Hard

by Jason Todd (vannja)



Series: Broken Beat & Scarred [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Red Hood: Lost Days, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Gender Identity, M/M, Other, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:19:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1554998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannja/pseuds/Jason%20Todd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually, you know, you'll find that *thing*.</p><p>Maybe its a person, maybe its several. Maybe its an emotion, or a calling, or even a damned cause that'll burn and take until you have nothing left to give. But someone, somewhere will read your hard-luck story. Will see your scars, and take their own strength from it. Even when you're beaten, broken.</p><p>They'll read your body like a road map, and the spilled blood on the pages. And then maybe...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rise, Fall Down, Rise Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

You know that for every step forward you need, every step you take, there will be times when it's less like stepping and more like falling, but you're damned determined to rise.

After all, what don't kill ya, makes you more strong.

* * *

Jason walked aimlessly down the street, going over and over and damned *over* in his head what was burned into the back of his eyelids. Every wrinkle, every hole patched and cleaned (like mouths stitched shut through the screams) in the tiny ideas swirling his brain to make one cohesive image.

Tomorrow was the night. The meeting was set, the domino's stacked a mile and a half high. Jason snorted at himself as the idea of stage fright filtered into his brain. Memories of social anxiety and nerves so bad he puked his guts into the flower pots, all from another life. It wouldn't be long now before he could chase those away too. Make those memories into ants under his boots. He rounded the corner, lost in his own world, and only training had him rolling under the swing of the bat into the alley, hands up. He left the guns at home, knew if he had them there was little reason to *not* use them, and he couldn't risk the *laughter* putting a flag on him before he was ready (not that he wasn't lethal with just his fists, but bodies from *fists* were a lot harder to track then bodies from *bullets*).

"That's a nice watch." The scrawny junkie with the bat said.

"I think that may belong to us." His friend said, two more following behind him into the alley.

Jason smirked, a slashed, razor-in-mouth smile. "Three on one? You guys might want to go find more of your buddies, first."

The one with the bat laughed. "Four against one. Learn to count, retard…"

Jason lunged at the one nearest to him. Palm strike to the forearm holding the box cutter, shin kick, strike to the back of the neck, and the piece of crap is left unconscious on the ground. Jason turned his eyes to the others, "Three on one, asshole."

"Fuck 'im up!"

Jason let the adrenaline sing in his veins as he bobbed around the swing of a chain, grinning like a maniac the entire time.

The shadow overhead and loud crash didn't cause him much pause (stop and die, and laugh some more), but he picked up his game, stepping into the chain-wielding vermin's space, grabbing the chain close to the man's grip, snapping his elbow sharply into the man's nose and dancing away with the weapon before he had a chance to recover.

The man swung his fists, hand clutching his bleeding nose and obviously dumb enough to avoid the guy who just stole his weapon. What ever, not Jason's problem. Jason looped the chain around the man's wrist, ducking under his elbow and yanking up sharply and curb stomping the back of the assailant's knee, sending the scum face first into the gravel with a cry (that's right, mother fucker, you *scream*). A punch to the back of the head sent the guy down like his other buddy, and jason flicked the chain in his hand to uncoil, catching the other end and glancing up in time to see the red and black and green finish laying pain down on the last man standing with a sharp snap of aluminum against wrist then again against skull.

Robin paused, before turning around to look at Jason, and he saw red (Robin red, blood red, fire red in succession). It lit up his veins, and the shock had his hands loosening on the chain till it slithered to the ground, and the links hitting the ground was the sound of the red chasing away the green for the first time in a long time (Robin red on Riddler green, blood curdling venom, fire washing the pit away to a bad taste).

Robin held up his hands in a calming gesture, and it was easy to pick out the specks of red sprayed against knuckles. "Are you alright?"

Jason licked his lips, "Yeah. I'm good."

Robin took a step closer, testing the waters like Jason was a caged animal "You may be going into shock, do you mind if I check you over for injuries?"

And how close could the replacement get, before the laughter came back and Jason fucked up his entire plan by destroying the brat in a green haze? Robin stepped closer, and closer still, waiting before making a slow, controlled movement to gently grab a hold of Jason's wrist. The red came back full force, and Jason's muscles tensed along with his jaw, but he knew red, out of practice maybe, but knew it well enough that he didn't *have* to smash his fist into the mask he was so used to seeing from the other side.

Robin carefully pulled Jason's hand up, and he was surprised to see the blood dripping down the side of his arm, smearing into the freed ends of his sweater and the shiny new watch (a gift from Talia) that had originally garnered attention. "Can I clean this up?"

"Yeah. Sure." Jason said, and the red bled away. Robin carefully peeled his sleeve up, disinfecting it with a quick, professional touch. Jason glanced around as if seeing the yellows and greys and blues of the buildings for the first time.

"Box cutters. You don't really feel them until they get you" Robin said softly as he pulled field dressings from his belt, his loud smile not matching his words at all, and the fire flared through Jason's veins at the wrong, wrong, wrong of it.

"Fucking *stop* that." Robin paused in wrapping a string of gauze around Jason's forearm to look up at him, confused. Jason floundered for a second. "Fuck, kid, I've lived in Gotham long enough to recognize a fucking *lie* of a smile."

Robin snorted, his smile becoming a crooked, lopsided thing, as he finished bandaging. "Lived in Gotham a while, then?"

Gotham, a box, death, the world. "Pretty much my entire life." Jason said carefully. Where had Batman (no, not dad, not Bruce, not Batman, keep the green away) found this kid? "You're stranger then the other Robins."

Robin froze for a brief moment. Blink of an eye moment, any one less trained, and all that. "Yeah, well, all I can do is hope I can do the title justice."

Robin pulled away, and Jason flexed his hand before putting it in his pocket. "You're already doing better then the last one, I reckon."

Robin stilled, hand on his grapple. "What was wrong with the last Robin?" He said slowly, and Jason could hear the almost protective lit to his voice. He almost scoffed at the idea of the replacement getting defensive on his behalf.

"Impulsive, brash, almost too much *street*." Jason turned towards the mouth of the alley. "Lied. Lied deeper then you."

Jason heard the soft exhaust of the air canister, and the almost silent whoosh of a cape.

When he got back to his apartment, he pulled the dossier on the newest bird. The file he had memorized in anger, in the rage that tasted of bitter green flesh off the damned poisoned apple.

Jason grabbed one of the only photos, wandered into the grungy bathroom, and held the photo up beside his face.

The smell came, first, like ash and kerosene, mint around the edges of his vision and the sweet apple that soured his stomach and churned his blood. And laughter, razor smiles, and blade in mouth spit blood, the noise of shots fired and screams, and maggots paying the flesh off his city and painting it back like a cheep whore, a fucking hope for an open casket, with infection eating its way from the inside out in yellow and greens and blacks.

Jason snapped his eyes closed and breathed, clenching his fist and listening to nothing more then his own pulse for a moment, opening his eyes to the destruction of his safe house, furniture broken and scattered. He looked down at his bandaged arm, hand now a bloody mess to match, and sighed, putting the picture down on a rickety desk that had avoided the destruction of the last several minutes (hours, days, years), before grabbing his own first aid kit from under the bed covered in pillow fluff. He carefully pulled the shards of mirror from his knuckles, wrapping his hand, heedlessly dusting the shards of silvered glass to the floor and throwing himself back on the bed.

He didn't sleep much that night.


	2. Breaking Your Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

You can own your damage. You weren't good at it, back before- before. But you knew. Knew to grit your teeth, knew the sting of bloody feet, for your life. To survive.

But now, now you've been dead. You fucking came back, and you learned your cracks. And you don't have to cut your feet, and you don't have to break your teeth.

* * *

The night had almost been *perfect*.

Jason picked through his emails at a rather busy coffee shop. Filled to the brim with high school students, business men, college kids. And one in particular he had been eying. The son of one of the bosses that now worked for him. He didn't really have plans for the kid. Yet. But it never hurt to have the knowledge of comings and goings before he needed it.

And he was, after all, playing the waiting game. Jason, himself, hated the game. He had never really had the patience of waiting for his prey to fall into his traps, but for this he would make an exception.

"Is this seat taken?"

Jason had to keep himself from doing a double take, and he hoped that Robin-Drake wasn't trained enough *yet* to notice. "Help yourself."

Drake sat down, nodding at Jason's arm. "Are you alright?"

Jason looked down at his wrapped right arm and hand, fingers slowly curling. He hadn't had a chance to do any healing yet, and though being chased by Batman over the rooftops had been exactly as he had planned, Nightwing's appearance had not. He had to step up his game quicker then expected, while being careful to not become *sloppy*. He knew Batman, what to expect, what to *plan* for, but Dick was already adding a whole new layer of *rage* Jason hadn't been prepared to deal with, and…

A touch to his hand derailed his thoughts, and he glanced up sharply. "Sorry, what?"

Drake smiled softly, an almost-lie of a smile, like last night. This one, though, was one he had used so much it was *almost* truth. "I said 'never mind'. I'm Tim."

I know. "Jason."

Drake leaned back, smiling. "Jason. Do you live around here?"

Here, being closer to Gotham Academy then Jason would prefer, but it was a nice stretch of free wi-fi that he could bounce his scramblers off of , and enough middle class folk to give him digital anonymity and wreck havoc on anything that hit his software before it got bounced into every other digital device in the vicinity. "Nah, just got back into town. Hotel row, actually. You?"

Drake shrugged. "Bristol."

This damned *kid* who, according to the files, had been living next door- *no*. "Bristol? Long ways." What ever this kid was playing at, was setting off Jason's paranoia. He had no reason to have been *made* yet, and unless the crazy stalker kid- Jason would have noticed. Would have seen him on some footage or another, and the kid spent most of his time with Dick's old gang of mini 'not-side-kicks' do-gooders. But, Jason was positive Robin wasn't on this case. The chemical plant portion of his plan had been *specifically* to punch Batman's ego, and his paranoia. Batman wouldn't let Robin on a case that brought him so close to the Joker.

Jason looked at the kid's eyes, his posture, and it was a particular expression he had seen before, a particular shift and tilt--

Jason leaned back and stretched, before standing. "D'you want a coffee, Tim?"

"Oh, ah- cafe mocha." Drake dug around in his pockets for change, Jason waving him off in part to get away quicker and in part to build his character.

Drake was attracted to him. Jason waited patiently in line. He has seen that *look* on other guys from a different life time. The cautious, almost trying too hard *not* to look. The 'I haven't done this before,' and 'don't worry, sweetie, I'll be nice for you and even only do it for a tenner…'.

"Americano and a…"

"Cafe mocha?" The older lady at the til said with a grin.

Jason laughed and followed her gaze to Drake, who had pulled his own laptop and was typing like a machine. At Jason's laugh he looked up, before going back to his laptop. Now that Jason knew what he was looking for the faint pink dusting the very tips of Drake's ears came as no surprise, despite the fact that Drake was obviously well trained on hiding his reactions. "He comes here often?" Jason pressed.

"Quite." The lady said. "Sits in the same spot, even."

Jason paid and stood off to the side, letting himself breath easier. He hadn't been marked yet. coincidences very rarely happened in their line of work, and it was almost worrying that Drake seemed to have a *schedule* in place, before Jason reminded himself that Drake had a *mask* he had to keep up, one entirely different from the one he wore at night.

Jason walked back with their coffees, and handed Drake his with a smile. "One mocha."

Drake grinned, and it only took a little prodding to get him to start talking. About his friends, school, his hobbies, how much of a hard-on he got for D&D and sci-fi, although not in those words. Jason was almost embarrassed. Embarrassed at the ease it took to get this kid talking, a bit of flirting here and there, and the kid (if he didn't *know* was a virgin, *pure* in a way he wasn't) surprisingly flirted back almost well enough Jason would hardly believe he was single.

"Sorry, for before." Drake said, nodding towards Jason's arm. Almost sincere enough that Jason *couldn't* hear the digging (fingernails and such). Digging to find out what happened after Robin left.

"Don't worry about it."

Drake shifted, and Jason could almost hear the gears turning. "I heard somewhere that…well its kinda dumb, now."

"Nah, kid, spit it out."

"Well…" Drake had the graces to look sheepish, faked enough that if Jason *hadn't* people watched for so long in Rome and, later, Paris, he would have missed it. "I've heard people say that- they've tried to kill themselves before, and all it took was one person showing them kindness that stopped them. I saw your arm and was kinda worried."

Interesting, so the kid could lie with his words- lie *incredibly* well (lie to everyone, don't get hurt, don't let them see how much you're hurting, lie with your soul till you're lying to *yourself*), but not his expression. Jason laughed, and the blush returned to the kid's ears, pupils dilating ever so slightly. "I got mugged last night. Got to meet Robin and all that."

Drake's expression didn't shift. A kind of *controlled* not-shift. "Really? I thought Robin only hung out in the bad parts of town?"

If Jason were anyone else, he'd point out that Drake should be fan-boy-ing way more, but he was hardly in charge of Robin's training. "Yeah, well. I'm only here on some really shitty family business. Must not have been paying attention to where I was wandering."

"Family business?"

Jason swallowed "A death in the family."

Drake's expression fell, before his eyes darted to the gauze on Jason's knuckles that hadn't been there when Robin had left, putting the wrong (*almost* right) pieces together. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

An email pinged on Jason's screen, and he only had to give it a cursory glance to know what it was about, before closing his laptop and packing it away. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Tim, but I got some things I need to do."

"Oh." And this was a more disappointed sound. Drake watched as Jason put away his stuff. "Ah, would you mind…um…"

Jason paused, glancing up, and if the blush on the kids face wasn't adorable, for the freak. Jason smiled, pulling a pen from the front pocket of Tim's backpack, and scribbling the number of one of his burner phones on Tim's palm. "Sure, kid."

Tim's face went beet red, and the crooked grin from before was back. God, where did Batman pick this one *from*?

Jason made it back to his apartment with more then enough daylight to spare to have everything ready by nightfall.


	3. Dawn, Death, Fight, Final Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. If anyone does want to go through and fix my fuck ups. Lemme know.

You remember, first, how you felt when you put on the greens, reds, and yellows. You remember your new beginning, that this was where you didn't have to be afraid, didn't have to lie, didn't have to sell pieces of your soul just to survive. But that, that was where you truly started to die. A slow suicide, ending with your final breath of fucking *fire*.

And maybe it's all backwards. Your final gasping breath from the pits of hell. You've worked on your death, working on eradicating your *lie* of a life, and now, now you're starting to finally see a dawn.

* * *

The station's security cameras had picked up Nightwing limping, which couldn't have gone more perfectly. Now, at least he didn't have to attempt to anticipate Nightwing's involvement- a wild card at the best of times- although it had been a distinct pleasure to watch Dick soar again, and an even more distinct pleasure to have been able to keep ahead of both of them. Just watching Dick do what he did best almost made Jason want to add grapples to his list of supplies, but he had never been the natural flier that Dick had been. Never even came close to Batman's efficient movement to make flying look anything even remotely like it should.

No, Jason owned his weaknesses. He wasn't made to fly. He was made to fall.

Despite the improvement in his plans, and the absolute eye-candy that was Dick Grayson in a bodysuit, he hadn't been able to sleep even the slightest. Gotham did that. Brought out the worst memories down every grungy street he saw. Every street corner and roof top a pinch in his chest and smoke in his lungs. At least he knew the Batman was getting less sleep then him, what with his last 'present'.

Just his other order of business, then. Jason unbuckled his pants and shucked them down to his ankles, sitting down on his desk chair. He pulled the plastic bag from his shaving kit, removing his supplies and putting them on the plastic he had laid down, putting the rest away before opening the small, unassuming box on the side. Already, he could feel himself calming and relaxing at the one ritual he allowed himself, pulling the vial of yellow from the box and twisting the cap off, putting the cardboard to the side to burn for later. 18 gauge on the end, stabbed into the rubber stopper after disinfecting, proper doses, and how he remembers how bad he had wanted to do more, make everything *right* as soon as fucking *possible*. He was already pushing against his own code, pushing against what made him queezy and woke him up in the middle of the nights, when he could remember the mother who raised him and not the mother who *razed* him.

Swap the needle for the 21, and didn't that suck that they were out of 23s.

He swabbed the spot, letting the ritual cleanse a little more *scum* off him, before jabbing the needle into his thigh, breathing through the broken smile screaming and spitting at him, depressing the plunger as slow as he would allow himself, feeling the now-familiar pressure burn into his muscles.

Sharps container, and he'd run them through a disinfectant later before destroying them.

His phone rang, and it took Jason a moment to discern which one as he walked over, pulling the leg of his boxer briefs down as he went.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Jason?"

Drake, right. "Hey, Tim, whats up?"

Silence, a beat. "I was wondering, I mean, um…"

"Sure."

"You haven't even heard what I was going to ask!" Tim said with a laugh.

"Alright, alright. Well, lets hear the evil plan. So long as we don't get arrested." As if.

"I was wondering if you…wanted to grab a movie. I mean, if you didn't have plans."

And what was wrong with him, that he was playing a 16-year-old? "Sure. You have one in mind?" 

"Well, there's a few playing."

"Pick one, I'll trust my eyes to your tastes."

Tim laughed again. "Alright. Is there a theatre that you'd prefer? I know you said you were staying in Hotel row…"

Right. "But I at least have a car. I can pick you up."

"I'll meet you, if you don't mind."

"Cool, where at?"

Jason scribbled down the adresse and time (unsurprised that Drake had already had something in mind), before saying his good byes and hanging up the phone, with a groan he ran his hands over his face and through his hair before hunting down some nicer clothes. 

He could play this game. Hell, he had *perfected* this damn game. But that had been before, when he was playing someone else. When he was less of himself then he was now. And he sure as hell wasn't playing this game with *Robin* of all people (playing Dick hadn't counted, even though it had been as close to real as he'd *allowed* himself at the time).

Fuck, he was going on a date with Robin, and his warehouse was Gotham. This time, he was holding the crowbar.

* * *

He hadn't been surprised that it had been a nerd film. He *had* been surprised that he'd enjoyed it.

Who'd have thought. Jason Todd and giant robot movies.

"Although, realistically, Gypsy should have been utterly destroyed by the force of the blast."

"You're arguing realism in a movie that had giant aliens coming out of the ocean *floor*." Jason laughed, surprised himself at how, well, *nice* it was.

"Well, we *know* aliens exist- are you okay? You're limping."

Jason paused, shifting his weight off his leg. "Yeah, I'm fine. Got into a scuff with my family." Not the reason why his leg was bum, but still truth enough.

Tim frowned. "Does that happen a lot?"

Careful, Drake, your Robin is showing. "Only when I'm in Gotham." Jason smiled as easily as he had practiced. "Don't worry about it. Just a disagreement with the old man, is all."

Drake didn't look satisfied, but seemed to take it in stride. "If you say so."

Jason slung an arm around Drake's shoulders, before he zeroed in on a hot dog stand, trying to catch the early-night passers by. "You ever have a chili-dog, Tim?"

Drake shook his head, and leaned slightly into Jason's side. "Are they good?"

"Only the best damn food in the world." Jason said, steering them into line. "Two chili's, my good man." Jason could almost *taste* the damn things. No where else in the world had made them like Gotham. It took Jason an embarrassingly long moment of looking at the hotdogs to realize the guy wasn't moving, and Jason glanced up with an eyebrow raised.

"We dun serve fags."

Jason felt Drake tense, at probably the same time that Jason had. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

An old, familiar ringing started in his ears as the man said "We don't serve *faggots* here." The pudgy man crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. "Need your hearin' checked?"

Jason's muscles rippled as his brain cycled through his options, when Drake's hand on his chest made him pause. "Jason, we'll go somewhere else."

Jason felt his jaw tense. "Fine." He grit out, following when Drake tugged on his arm. "Asshole." Jason growled, already having taken note of the cart number and name as he was pulled away.

They walked for a few blocks, before Drake pulled him into a (decently) clean alley. "Hey, are you okay?"

Jason shook himself out of his mood as best he could. He had found it wasn't uncommon for him to get *angrier* (hadn't been feasible before, at times he had thought he was going to *explode* with green rage) when he had started his injections, especially over the small things. They had been a safe rage, a *red* rage, and he had actively sought them out, gone after the safe red haze that ate at the green, even when it turned later into laughter, laughter, and more (what hurts worse pumpkin, A, or...)

"Hey."

Jason shook his head, gritting his teeth. "Sorry. I just get a little...pissed off."

Drake smiled slightly. "Just forget what he said, alright? There are people with opinions." Drake shrugged. "It was a good night otherwise, though, right?"

And there was the bit of shyness that Jason wasn't expecting. A shy, almost hopeful expression that Jason didn't know what to do with. It was eager, but still closed off in a way that...

Drake made a sound as he was pressed bodily against the wall, a soft breath leaving his lips as Jason slanted his mouth over Drake's. A breath, maybe two, and Drake was pushing back into the kiss, pressing his tongue against the seam of Jason's lips, groaning when Jason sucked on his tongue. A thrill shot down Jason's spine, giving a phantom squeeze to his balls before settling in his diaphragm. 

He was so fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I am not putting Jason's dosage, nor will I accept questions regarding it. Last thing I want is anybody self medicating for any reason.


	4. They Cut and Rape Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the people who commented and liked!

You keep going. You keep falling into the same cycle, and it makes you angry and makes you want to kill people, makes you want to *stop screaming*. The cycle of gritting your teeth against your life just doesn't seem to end. Of every step forward is a step back, and.

And you let them, your *family* the people who are supposed to love you. You let them scratch your wounds fresh, let them scrape at your fucking scars that are only just healing.

Everyone else. They're only out for blood. They're out to take you down and cut you open. Out to fucking slam your face into the piss soaked concrete and rape you. And you? You start running out of soul to give a shit.

* * *

 

Even pushing the Black Mask hadn't made him feel any better.

Jason pulled of his helmet with a choked laugh, hand shaking as he slammed is fist through the feeble drywall of his apartment. A part of him had wanted to reach out, wanted to take *his* Batman's offered hand, but the green had laughed, had settled the screaming child into the pit of his stomach until it had hurt almost as much as the fucking *defect* eating away at his body had for 6 years of his life.

But now, the green was ebbing. Slowly edging away until there wasn't anything left but the despair, the aching in his chest, that wanted Bruce to come and make the laughing *stop*, make it end. He punched the wall again and did what he was damn well good at. He damn well *clung to the green and brought it back to the forefront. Let himself fucking*hate* Talia and Ra's, let himself *loath* the Joker, *despise* Batman for not being strong enough to avenge his *son*. Jason ripped his *rage* at Drake, the perfect *son* for Bruce.

And just like that, the madness disappeared, leaving him blinking and reeling, glancing around to see what damage he had caused this time, honestly surprised that nothing was destroyed and his phone was ringing against his ear. He hurriedly hit 'end', leaning against the wall and sliding down (falling, he can fall, he's good at falling, and what had the lead said in that *damned* movie?).  
  
His phone ringing caused him to jump, and he fiddled with it before hitting the answer button.  
  
"Jason?" He heard softly, before he bit his tongue and pressed the phone to his ear.  
  
"Yeah, hey Tim." And fuck he hoped his voice wasn't actually as broken as it sounded.  
  
"Are you ok." Not a question. A demand of intent, and had Jason been less burned (burning after, and he couldn't have *survived* long enough to *know* he was burning...) "Jason."

Jason sucked a breath through his teeth, a sharp quick sound. "I don't know why I called you." He confessed. Surprised himself, really, with his honesty. The only fucking person he was truly honest with was *himself*, had learned that lesson the hard way.

"...Do you want to talk?" Drake sounded...quietly sincere. The girls probably adored the shit out of him. Probably more then they ever had *Jason* (they had taken him aside once to ask what the big bad Bat had wanted with a pretty little thing like...).

"Not really." Jesus his voice sounded awful. Maybe he had been *screaming*. "How has your week been?"

And Tim- the fucking *replacement*- talked him through his fairly normal week, hanging out with his friend Ives, annoying teachers who didn't know half of what they were teaching, the great chem teacher who let them play around with chemical compounds, sleeping through English lit.

"Sleeping through English? Jeez, what would your folks think?" Jason said teasingly before biting his tongue as the immediate silence informed him he had hit a sore spot. Not that Jason didn't already *know*. Jack and Janet Drake hadn't been on his list as anything more then possible leverage...until he discovered their absenteeism, anyway.

"I don't think they mind. As long as I pass, right?"

"Fucking *don't*..." Jason bit his lip and breathed. "Sorry, thats a sore spot, I can tell."

A beat (of heart beats getting shallower) "It's not...really." Lied like someone who keeps to the shadows. Like someone who *kept* to the shadows (don't *look* at me). Someone Jason had been intimately aquanted with...

"Let me make it up to you." Jason offered, before he had even really processed what had gone through his lungs and out his mouth. But done was done.

There was a little laugh. "Jason," and that sounded like fond exhasperation, "theres nothing for you to make up for."

"Maybe I just want to take you out." Back to the flirty banter. Familiar ground built with words like the old chainlink fence that had run behind the basement suite he had shared with mom, and tones that were the rat-ta-tat-tat of playing cards in bike spokes from the neighbour boys next door.

It didn't hurt that Drake's blush was a veritible *chorus*. "I...really? I'm free after school?" A question for Jason's statement?

"Sounds like a date." Jason rested his forehead against his knees. Legs, back, shoulders all sore from holding position for so long, but in a tiring way. Exhaustion beginning to lick up his spine, reminiscint of days gone past when he had refused to cry himself to sleep- possibly more draining then the actual act of *crying*. "I should let you go. I'll text you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it."

And maybe Jason was too.

\-----------------------

Before everything. Before Bruce, before Robin, before dad *left* for the long haul, and then left for *good*, this had been his favorite place.

Drake was full-on grinning, and it was doing something funny to Jason's head, he was sure. Couldn't find it in himself to really care too much, mind you.

"Never been here, Tim?" Jason asked good naturedly, grinning a bit despite himself.

"Not for a very long time." Drake said, as they moved into the amusement park.

Amusement Mile had seen better days- probably before the Penguin, Freeze, Dent and the (bloody smiles and he spit in the laughing face, didn't he?) Joker. Before Jason's time. Before his previous life.

But it was still enough. Enough of a distraction, enough of an almost good time for the both of them to lose hours.

Enough for Jason to show off a little.

Jason probably wasn't the hardest hitter, but he could still make the bell ring, could still use a bit of his cunning to get a little bit extra out of the cheep merchants, could grin and throw two hoops onto a post at the same time, and- at the promise of a better prize- three just to say he could and grin a bit at Tim's silently pleased expression.

After all, Drake didn't know who Jason was. Jason could be anyone.

And Drake damn well let that sharp little mind come out to play with very little prompting on Jason's part. Counting ping pongs, recognizing small little tells when the cups were moved. Watching for moments when the right duck was put back into it's pond. He was still holding back- Jason had no question about that. He was even going as far to avoid all of the physical games, despite Jason's prodding (don't slip *up*) just to keep from showing off what was hiding under the baggy sweater and loose jeans.

And then there was the shooting game.

As soon as Jason palmed the cheep plastic gun he was relaxing a little. The weight was off but it was familiar *enough* (enough...was this little bit *enough*? Enough to keep going for just a little bit more-enough to just cut off a few inches of hair; enough to just walk around his room for a bit with the constricting bandages and admire himself in the mirror, hair twisted under a baseball cap; rolled up socks and Bruce's ties...).

Jason missed the first shot, but hit all of the next four in rapid succession.

"You wanna go again?" The teen behind the counter asked, slightly in awe. It was rigged, of course.

"Nah. I'm good." Jason replied, even though his body was always seeking the familiar pressure of the trigger these days. Drake's eyes- *Robin's* eyes had sharpened. Jason smiled easily as he collected his prize, gauging Robin on feel alone- he had *years* of pretending on Drake, and his muscles didn't even flicker when Robin was put away (or was it Drake being put back *on*?).

"What are you going to do with all this?" Tim asked with a laugh, guesturing to the small collection of prizes in Jason's arms.

Jason simply grinned and led Drake back past all the rides and bright lights and whistles to the fenced edge of the park, where there were kids playing make believe on the other side of the fence. Dirty kids with crooked teeth, clothes that hung off of them, shoes that didn't fit. Jason tossed several toys over the fence. The kids scattered and hid at the first thump of something on the ground, and he waited. Waited for their curiosity to override their instinct.

Jason remembered how it was. In Gotham, something lands on the ground- you damn well take cover just in case. It has little to do, even, with the crazies, and more to do with the fact of life that *is* this dirty fucking city.

Eventually, the kids poked their heads out when there was a lack of noise, of *heat* (and Jason wasn't even *scared* of the *heat*, nor of the *pain*, or the inability to get *away* get *OUT*). When they saw what it was, and took stock of the man that was grinning and holding out a stuffed animal, they slowly crept out. Still cautious, of course...but braver with the fence between them. Drake kept quite.

(No, he had been to hell and was stronger for it...it was the laughter...and the crippling *silence*, the sheer *nothingness* that followed).

Jason tossed the rest of the toys over the fence, before turning around and walking away, not sticking around to see if his presents were accepted or not. The kid's- Gotham's *true* children- wouldn't brave it until they were alone anyway.

Drake followed behind after a minute, before shyly linking his arm through Jason's. "That was...a very nice thing you did."

Jason shrugged "Well, it's not like I'm going to use them. Rides?"

Drake grinned and nodded, dragging him by the arm towards the roller-coaster. In true Robin fashion, they hit every single one of the adrenaline-junkie rides, both of them rolling their eyes at the screaming of the girls and Jason flat out laughing when a roid-monkey screached like a little girl.

They were in line again for the zipper when Jason heard the spitted word of 'tranny'. Drake didn't even notice the slur, but he did notice when Jason twisted to look in the direction, unsurprised to see the roid-monkey he had laughed at earlier, snearing at a transgirl who was steadfastedly ignoring him and the looks from the surrounding crowd. 

"At least she don't scream like a baby." Jason spat back, feeling Drake tense up next to him.

The guy- Ramone Evans, if Jason remembered his face correctly from the dosier on his crime lord's employee- went beat red in anger. "What was that, tough-guy?" 

"You heard me." Jason replied, ignoring Tim tugging on his jacket. "And I wouldn't worry about what *anyones* got under their pants if I were you- s'not like you'd have any luck gettin' in a girl's skirt anyway, with that face." Jason let Evans sputter and make crude remarks as he and Drake stepped up in line.

"You couldn't have left it alone, huh?" Drake asked as the cages began to turn

Jason shrugged "Good thing he wasn't insulting *me* or I'd have punched his lights out."

Drake smiled slyly.

"What?"

"Nothing. Your accent gets thicker when you're angry."

Jason scoffed. "I don't have an accent."

Drake sniggered. "Oh yeah you do. If I didn't know what Gotham Narrows sounded like I'd think you were directly from the Bronx."

Jason felt the slight discomfort at the idea that he had a Narrows accent (don't let them *hear* how fuckin' afraid you are) "And how do *you* know what the Narrows sound like?" he bit back.

Drake shrugged off his tone. "I used to do photography in the area."

Jason's reply was cut off by the ride kicking up. He had known Drake had stalked Batman and Robin, but somehow it was only now occurring to him that Drake had *something* that had attracted Bruce (dad, *his* Batman and he knew he was a possessive fucker...his *mentor* and his *problem* to fix). Originally, he had been fucking with Drake (not *litterally* and probably not *ever* because that was a can of incredibly fucking sporadic scenarios he couldn't *possibly* predict for, because Drake couldn't be anything remotely like Talia, and he knew himself well enough to admit that) but now, the part of his brain always on the plan was figuring out his chess peices, realigning the board, while the boy he'd always steadfastidly ignored was yelling that *Robin* wasn't a pawn (but Robin wasn't a rook, nor the queen, because that would mean Batman would have to give enough of a *shit* to use Robin to their proper potential and not just as throw away pieces).

As soon as the cages opened, Drake's hand on his arm and quick tuging back behind the rides and closer to the docks had him snapping to fucking *attention* probably faster then what was safe, before Drake turned to him all honestly worried-eyed in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with Robin (except maybe when looking at *Bruce* the first time in the uniform). In a way that had not a damn thing to do with masks at all, matter of fact, and Jason's chest stuttered, and he wanted desperately and suddenly to wipe the look of Drake's face (with his fist...that was by far the safest option to go by).

"Did I lose you there for a moment?" Drake asked, hiding his concern back behind the mask of whoever the hell *Tim Drake* was (don't let them know you have any fucks *left* to give).

A beat, then two (which hurts more, pumpkin, *A* or...)

"There was a boy I knew," Jason said, mouth moving before brain gave permission, and he was *really* going to have to consider the merits of muting his helmet if this was going to keep happening, "he was a bit *flamboyant*, got picked on all the time. Saw him once outside a shop, he said he was looking for something for a *special occasion* and would give me $20 to help him out. Ended up stealing a $100 dress for that $20, but I figured it wouldn't hurt. Would be worth the thrill. What I didn't know was that his dad was Mafioso, that he had tried coming out and his old man had threatened to kill 'im if he tried to go public." Jason wasn't looking at Drake, was looking somewhere in the vicinity of the toe of his high tops, only just vaguely compartmentalizing that Tim had red, yellow and green shoelaces peeking out in an intricate pattern beneath his loose jeans. "Turns out, this special occasion was half a meter of rope and the old tree out front of his old mans house."

Jason wasn't sure why he said it. Why he even bothered to dig up something he hadn't thought about since two months before his death. Something he had never mentioned to Bruce, hell, never mentioned to *Alfred*.

He could smell the sulphur, could taste the rotten-eggs (dirt, maggots) even as the image of telling Bruce what had been going through his head at the time churned his stomach and he was distantly aware that his hands had started to ball into fists.

And then Tim kissed him. A knock of teeth and inexperience, soda and the nachos from earlier in the day.

The green haze turned red, but red in a way Jason was completely unfamiliar with. Raspberries of the best kind growing wild beyond the gates of Wayne manor. Jason decided, for a moment, he could just forget about everything. Make out with Tim Drake a little before reality set back in.

"You reminded that girl that someone will stand up for her." Drake muttered against Jason's lips. A little awe and a lot like a kid following Batman and Robin, and maybe even someone asking how the hell they got to where they were at that moment. Jason was content to wipe the look off his face with his lips instead of a fist.

And if the Red Hood later found Evans shoving his paws down the back of some poor, uncooperateive drag queen's dress...well, it wasn't as if the prick would live to tell the tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on Tim's age: while I have stated Tim is 16 (you can feel free to age him up in your head if you wish), I would also like to make a mention a bit about gay culture. Even though we're not hiding love in dark alleys and behind closed doors (as much) there's still this random notion that goes around that the age of consent for gay people is younger (a throwback more to the times when you had to think long and hard if you were going to come out of the closet, if I had to wager a theory). I don't agree with it, but it's still present today, where for some reason people don't look as closely at the law between say a 16/17 (and sometimes as low as 15) and 19/20/21 year old gay or lesbian couple as they would a straight couple.


End file.
